I had never been in Wales beyond the border counties of Flint,
Denbigh, and Montgomery, and was, of course, a stranger to the
best scenery of the Principality. Business, however,
required that I should visit some parts of the north-west, and as
curiosity prompted me to see the new Chain-bridge over the
straits of Menai, I determined upon commencing my trip from
Liverpool by the Llewellyn steam-packet; and, accordingly, on
Tuesday, the 26th July, about ten o’clock in the forenoon,
I embarked on board that fine vessel, which was just on the point
of weighing anchor. The river Mersey was a scene of general
bustle, the liveliness of which was heightened by the brightness
of the sun, and the beauty of a fleecy sky. A light breeze
from the northward gave freshness to the air; every appearance
was favourable to such an excursion as I had projected; and a
goodly company, assembling on all parts of the vessel’s
deck, indicated that “all the world and his
wife” were in a rambling humour this summer.
Amongst other objects on the river an arrival from Dublin
suddenly attracted universal attention. A steam-ship came
close past us with such a cargo as I never before beheld,
although in the summer season there may be many such. There
were probably between seven and eight hundred persons, chiefly
Irish harvest-labourers, standing on the deck of the vessel, as
closely packed as the crowd at a town meeting; and so much did
this upper weight preponderate in the balance against the cargo
(if any) below, that the vessel continually heeled, or swayed,
from one side to the other to such a degree, that her gangway
ladder at one moment touched a boat alongside, and at another
arose out of the boatman’s reach. The crowd on board
were alternately visible, as on an inclined plane, towards each
shore, as if the vessel were proud of its miserable cargo, and
was determined that the farmers both in Lancashire and Cheshire,
should be apprized of the arrival of the poor reapers. It
was an advertisement for them, free of duty. In a few
minutes our engine commenced its herculean labours, and, amidst
the exchange of kind wavings of the hand between us and our
friends on shore, we began, not to sail, for we had no canvas
extended, but, to use a sailor’s phrase, to
“plough the deep.”
The passengers on board were about a hundred and seventy in
number, chiefly of the most respectable classes. Sir R. W.
and a part of his family were under the awning on the
quarterdeck, as was also a worthy alderman, T. C. and many
others. Among those on the fore part of the deck was the
veteran comedian R., the author of that amusing work “The
Itinerant.” A Dublin gentleman and myself became his
companions till we reached Beaumaris, and we found, as I
frequently have found, much pleasure in his agreeable
society. About the middle of the deck was stationed a small
but good band of musicians, who, from time to time, performed
almost all the favourite airs of the present day; and among the
passengers standing about the bowsprit was a small knot of
friends, apparently choristers in some country church, who, in
the intervals between the other musical performances, sang, in
very good style, several chaunts, psalms, and anthems.
Ranged under the fore gunwale of the vessel, and sitting on the
deck, were several Welsh market-women; who, as there were no
novel sights for them to gaze upon, seemed disposed to
“while away the sunny day” in slumber, or in quiet
conversation with each other; while the busier throng about them,
many of whom had never before been on the “salt sea
ocean,” were eagerly watching for objects worthy of
notice and inquiry. The scenery on both sides of the river,
the Rock Perch, the rocks and caverns called the Red Noses, the
several lighthouses, the vessels approaching or departing, or
gliding on the horizon, the Floating-light, the Welsh mountains,
and the clear deep green colour of the sea, became successively
the topics of observation, and the sources of pleasure; nor,
amongst a select few, were Helbre Island and “King
Robert” forgotten. The singers attended to their
singing, the musicians to their music, and the cook to his
cooking. Appetite was the principal ailment on board,
although, gently be it spoken, some few of the passengers, smooth
as the sea was, were seen creeping into corners, and “casting up
their accounts.” In general, the ready snack, and the
bottle of porter, were in great requisition; while a considerable
number of persons sat down in the cabin to a regular half-crown
dinner, and a glass of good port. All this time we made
great progress on the water, a couple of sails having been
recently hoisted in aid of our steam-power; and we soon passed
that grand object, the Great Ormshead, which must be terrific
indeed to the crew of any vessel placed near its rugged and
threatening front, in a strong north-west wind.
Penmaen-mawr soon appeared on our left, bold and rugged as the
Ormshead, but much loftier. Like an ornamental band passing
along his front, a little above his base, we saw what was pointed
out to us as the great mail-road between Conway and Bangor.
Neither this road, nor the hill itself, appeared so elevated as I
expected; but this I afterwards found was owing to our great
distance from the shore, which, although several miles off,
appeared very near; the sea being quite smooth, and there being
no intermediate objects by which we could calculate
distances. Puffin Island, with the east coast of Anglesea
behind it, was now right a-head of us, and the opening of
Beaumaris Bay a little to the left. We proceeded in that
direction, passing large flights of puffins, and shortly entered
that beautiful bay, with Penrhyn Castle on our left; Beaumaris,
its Castle, and Lady Bulkeley’s Park on the right; and the
town of Bangor, and the straits of Menai immediately before
us. Opposite Beaumaris, at a quarter before five
o’clock, the packet stopped a few minutes, boats approached
us, and I and several other persons landed, including Sir R. W.,
whose carriage was waiting to convey him, and the ladies with
him, to his seat in the neighbourhood; and including also Mr. M.,
his two sisters, and two other young ladies, whom I shall have
occasion frequently to mention again. The neat little town
of Beaumaris, (the capital of Anglesea,) the Castle, which is a
beautiful ruin, and the adjoining Park, are well worth the
stranger’s attention. Being anxious to proceed
further that night, and having transacted some business in the
town, and taken tea at the King’s Arms, I was ready at
seven o’clock to join a party, if I could meet with one, in
hiring a boat for Bangor, three miles across the water, or to the
Chain-bridge, two miles further, or to Carnarvon, seven
miles beyond it. The boatmen spoke of a party going to
Bangor, but not further, that night. I met the party coming
to the beach. It was Mr. M. and the four ladies. They
seemed pleased, and I am sure I was, to find that we were all
going the same way, and they politely received me as one of their
party. I pointed out to them a glimpse of the Chain-bridge
in the distance, and proposed that, if the boatmen would take us,
we should proceed through the straits all the way to Carnarvon
that night, the wind and tide being completely favourable.
This was instantly and gladly agreed to, as suiting, and, indeed,
advancing their purposes as well as mine; fifteen silvery reasons
satisfied the boatmen; and our merrily-disposed little party of
six were seated in the boat, the sails set, and the oars at work,
at a quarter-past seven o’clock.
It was a lovely evening. The ladies’ parasols
were, at first, in requisition; but, in a short time, the higher
ground of the Anglesea coast afforded us a more general shade,
and then the beauty of the scene around us was
indescribable. On our left, Port Penrhyn, with its immense
inn, and the city of Bangor in the hollow, were broadly lighted
by the declining sun. The tints on the neighbouring
mountains were finer than I ever beheld; and they were so rich,
that a faithful picture of them would be considered too highly
coloured. Every moment brought us nearer to the stupendous
work I have before alluded to—the Chain-bridge, which I
shall hereafter more particularly describe. Near its
western extremity lay, at anchor, in calm repose, the
steam-packet which had recently been so busily employed. We
looked up to the suspended chain-work of the bridge, which, at
first, had appeared light and elegant, but which, the nearer we
approached, assumed a heavier and grander appearance; and we saw
several persons moving to and fro upon it, whose apparently
diminutive stature and dangerous situation surprised, and almost
pained us. The boatmen here brailed up the sails,
preparatory to our passing the swellies, as they called
them, which are a series of circling eddies, caused by abrupt
rocks under the water, just beyond the new bridge, and about the
centre of the straits. We passed under the lofty chains of
the bridge, amazed with their height and length, and with the vast strength
of the granite pillars and arches on each shore, from which the
chains are suspended. We soon entered the swellies, where
circles, caused by the under-rocks, whirled on every side, the
surface of the water being broken in places by other rocks which
rose above its level. Here the stream, however, was still
in our favour, and was so exceedingly rapid that we felt as if
moved along by an unseen power. In a short time we came
into almost still water, but the current gradually increased
again: we had come, so far, with the stream from the sea at
Beaumaris; the tide was now running from the centre of the
straits to the sea at Carnarvon, the breeze was as before, and
our canvas was again spread, so that we were not detained by wind
or wave a single moment. The column, erected in honour of
the Marquis of Anglesea, here formed a prominent object on a hill
towards the west; and not far from us the splendid seat of the
Marquis was the grace and ornament of the lower and richly-wooded
ground. The appearance of the glassy water was now
particularly fine. The red clouds above us flung down the
rays which they caught from the setting sun, and their reflection
represented rocks of bright coral beneath us, while the rising
moon cast her pale light into the wave, forming the semblance of
a pyramidal rock of polished silver. A number of young
cranes stood on the shore, at respectful distances from each
other, earnestly gazing at us as we glided smoothly by.
Observations on all we witnessed, together with anecdote and
poetry, prevailed amongst us throughout the scene; and never,
certainly, were better timed the vocal efforts of some of the
party, in duets, such as “Flow on, thou shining
river,” “The Canadian Boat Song,”
and “O come to me when day-light sets.”
Foreign scenery was described; poets and travellers were quoted;
and our stores of conversation were increased by the circumstance
that the brother of one of the ladies present had been with the
lamented Belzoni, in the latter days, and at the death, of that
enterprising traveller. We appeared to be upon a lake in
fairy land; and after two hours of the most delightful sailing I
ever enjoyed, we stepped upon shore under the picturesque walls
of Carnarvon. At Parry’s handsome and well situated
hotel we were most comfortably accommodated; our sitting-room
overlooked the “moonlight sea,” and commanded a view
of Anglesea. The ladies, after partaking with us of a
slight refreshment, retired to rest, while Mr. M. and myself
proceeded to view the celebrated ruins of Carnarvon Castle, which
were then beautifully illuminated by the sweet heavenly lamp of
night. These ruins have been so often described, that it is
unnecessary for me to say more of them than that they very far
exceed in extent and majesty of appearance any idea I had formed
of them from paintings or description. They were truly
interesting, and almost awful, to contemplate. Returning to
our inn, we passed through the north gate, near which some
vessels are being built and repaired; and here both of us were
struck with a most extraordinary appearance in the sky. The
last red tinges were fading from the western clouds; but an arch,
apparently of sun-light, seemed to hang over the scene of the
recent departure of day. The arch was about fifty degrees
broad, and twenty in height, from the horizon. It was very
bright, and strongly defined; its ends appeared to rest upon two
bright, but ill defined and short, pillars, while the centre was
supported by a magnificent column of vivid light. Between
the pillars, all was total darkness for several moments, but in a
short time streaks of light in parallel lines to the pillars,
began to descend from the arch, from south to north; the whole
then vanished gradually but rapidly, and the still and silvery
moonlight now extended, unopposed, to where a scene had just
occurred more strange, varied, beautiful, and flitting, than even
the powers of magic could adequately describe. It was now
near eleven o’clock, and we adjourned to our respective
apartments, wondering at how much we had done, and how much we
had seen to admire, in the twelve short hours which had elapsed
since we left the Mersey.
Next morning the weather was still extremely fine, and at an
early hour we accompanied the ladies in visiting the Castle, the
interior of which, the gloomy passages, the massy towers, and the
fine view from the top, afforded us much scope for speculative
observation, and for pretty active exertion. Of course, the
little guide did not omit to point out the room in which Edward
II. was born, nor which were the courtly and which the military
departments of the place.
After our
party had enjoyed a substantial breakfast at the hotel, I
proceeded into the town for an hour or two to transact some
business, the only remarkable feature of which was my receiving
payment of a debt of above nine years’ standing, from a
person I never knew. During this time a handsome open
sociable and a pair of horses were got ready, for a few
hours’ excursion. The hotels at Carnarvon are well
supplied with convenient cars and sociables, the latter being
adapted to the comfortable accommodation of six persons. By
the bye, I may here mention, that six appears to be the best
number for a party making a tour such as that I am describing;
for whether in boats, or in vehicles on shore, the sixth part of
the cost of conveyance is extremely reasonable; while, at the
same time, six persons are as comfortably accommodated as three
or four. About eleven o’clock we set out for the
lakes of Lan-berris, proceeding a little way by the Beddgellert
road, making a call at Penrhos, the residence of R. H. W. Esq.
and then crossing the country towards the lakes. The
approach to the lower or principal lake is rugged and hilly, and
we left our carriage at the summit of a piece of high ground just
before we descended into the vale, a boatman having there met us,
offering his services. The view from a stile on our right
hand was here truly delightful, and came upon us quite by
surprise. The lake which lay shining before us, a very
picturesque bridge crossing it near its lower extremity, and the
almost Alpine appearance of the surrounding mountains, with
Snowdon’s venerable summit in the distance, formed a
picture at once interesting and sublime. We proceeded to
the foot of the lake, and seated ourselves in a small boat, in
which the boatman and his wife immediately began to use the oars
very dexterously. “Row, brothers, row,”
would here have been out of place; but “the Vale of
Ovoca” was vividly present to our minds, and our ears
enjoyed a vocal remembrancer of it. The water in the lake
seemed unusually low, owing to the long continued drought; for,
until we reached the bridge I have before mentioned, our boat
frequently touched the clear pebbly bottom, or rustled through
the long and beautiful verdure which grew beneath the surface of
the water, and which, by a constant inclination towards the
termination of the lake, indicated the direction of the placid stream.
At one time the boatman stepped into the water, and dragged the
boat easily along. We soon passed the bridge, under the low
arches of which several cows were enjoying the luxuries of a cool
shade and a foot bath. From this portal we entered at once
upon the deep and broad expanse of the lake, and our boatman made
himself very communicative with respect to any remarkable spot,
or incident, within his knowledge. Snowdon, and the other
mountains around, cast their varied shadows upon the water; the
sun shone in meridian splendour; and we glided merrily along,
occasionally refreshing ourselves with a handful of water from
the sweet and crystal element on which we floated. All
around was loveliness and happiness; and it was pleasing, though
not at all surprising, to see, that when the ladies averted their
eyes from other attractions, and looked into the brilliant abyss
below, four handsome blooming faces gazed smilingly up at
them. Dol Badern Castle, or rather tower, now became a
prominent object, crowning the head of the lake; and we landed to
the right of it, upon the banks of a meadow, through which we
passed to the only inn in the neighbourhood, where we enjoyed
some refreshment, and where our boatman and his “help
meet” who had rowed us about three miles, and were to
row us back again, for six shillings, were not forgotten.
From the inn we walked, shaded from the hot sun by umbrellas
and parasols, to the junction of the upper and lower lakes, near
the foot of Dol Barden Tower. A good looking, but
meanly-dressed boy, who seemed to guess at our object, here
placed himself just before us, and slowly walked up to the tower,
by the most direct road. We followed him, and ascended to
the castle terrace, which commanded a fine view of the lower, and
a portion of the upper lake; but we were excluded, by a part of
the building, from a full view of the entire vale. In a few
moments our little guide, whom we had scarcely missed, peeped out
upon us from an upper window of the ruined tower. He could
not tell us how he got there, because he could not utter a word
of English; but we were much surprised, when, after another
momentary disappearance, we saw him looking down upon us from the
very top of the tower. Two of our enterprising ladies
determined upon following him, if possible; and we discovered,
that, by climbing through a window-place, above the steps of the
terrace, access could be obtained to what was once, no doubt, a
convenient spiral staircase. They climbed the place,
followed by Mr. M. and myself, who were astonished at their
intrepidity in ascending the building, which consisted of a
pretty large circular tower, with small shattered steps, leading
spirally up the interior of the walls to the top, without any
rail or any central support whatever, and where the least slip
must have cost life or limb. Up, however, they and we
proceeded; and, when we reached the top, and sat down upon the
main wall of the ruins, the panorama was, indeed, complete: the
entire valley, the two lakes, and the surrounding mountains and
quarries, were all in broad display around us, while the
thunder-like reports of explosions in the distant slate-rocks,
and the echoes they occasioned from the hills, heightened the
interest of the gratifying scene. The ladies (and perhaps
the gentlemen, too) felt a momentary fear, respecting the descent
they had to make; but our little guide, who ran about the tops of
the steep walls like a cat, seemed to show us so good an example
of coolness of mind, that, after advising each other to
steadiness and carefulness, we descended in safety, and rewarded
the little silent boy for his unsought voluntary guidance.
We then returned to our inn, and, in a short time, proceeded to
our boat, meeting, in our way, the worthy Alderman T. C. whom I
have before mentioned, and also W. S. Esq. the T. C. of a certain
“good old town,” with his family. We had
a short conversation with them upon some local matters, amongst
which, the merits and claims of a certain Mechanics’
Institute were not omitted. We then set out on our
return. During our stay at the inn, we had some idea of
ascending Snowdon; but we found, on calculation, that it would be
too great a task for that day, and that, to stay during the night
at the inn, in order to ascend the mountain at the best time,
namely, at sun-rise, would disarrange our plans. All the
party, however, except myself, whom business prevented, agreed to
return to the inn on the following night, and make the ascent at
dawn the succeeding morning. I must here remark that
Snowdon does not appear so lofty from the lake as a stranger
would expect: but this is owing, no doubt, to the nearness and
bulk of the surrounding hills, and the uncertainty, to the eye,
of the actual distance of that lord of the mountains. On
the road to Carnarvon, we were particularly struck with the
forwardness of the grain crops, which appeared a fortnight in
advance, compared with those of Lancashire and Cheshire. We
arrived at the hotel in the evening, and sat down, at seven
o’clock, to an excellent dinner, including some choice
fish, and by far the tenderest and best mutton we ever
tasted. As we were now in “foreign parts
abroad”, we managed, amongst us, a bottle of good port,
and drank to the healths of “all friends in
England.” In the evening we ordered fresh horses
to our sociable, and were quickly conveyed, by moonlight, over a
fine road, and through a beautiful country, to Bangor, where, at
the Liverpool Arms, we met with pleasant looks, good
entertainment, and comfortable repose.
On the following morning the weather was as beautiful as ever,
and as my time was more limited than that of my companions, I
resolved to proceed to the Chain-bridge and back before
breakfast. Mr. M. was kind enough to join me, and, in a few
minutes, there was ready for us a one horse car, similar to those
so much used in Dublin, and called outside cars. It was
capable of accommodating six persons, besides the driver, and was
altogether a comfortable vehicle. We soon reached the
summit of the elevated ground between the city and the bridge,
and then, looking to the northward, on our right, we enjoyed a
magnificent view of the whole bay of Beaumaris, and of all the
prominent objects by which its beautiful neighbourhood is
distinguished. Descending from this point, past the
ferry-house, we immediately arrived at the shore, and then
turning to the left, we ascended a slope till we reached the
level of the road-way of the new bridge, one hundred feet above
high-water mark. Here we stood near one of the great
suspending piers, whose foundation is more than one hundred feet
below, and whose summit is fifty-two feet above, the level of the
road. Two arched gate-ways are formed through this gigantic
structure, leading to the two intended carriage-ways across the
straits. Over the apex of this pier, the four massy chains hang
in firm but graceful festoon. We traced them nearly to
their fastenings in the rocks, and were astonished at the amazing
strength and security of the whole work. Between the
fastenings and the pier we noticed the erection of what seemed
designed for the toll-house; a handsome building, rising up to,
and amongst the chains, as if the bridge were to derive its
support (and perhaps it will) from the toll
house. We walked up the chains to the top of this building,
and thence to the apex of the pier, where our elevation, one
hundred and fifty-two feet above the water, appeared somewhat
terrific.
I may here remark that the four chains are thus formed of
solid bars of wrought iron. Each bar is about ten feet
long, about three inches broad, and one inch thick. Five of
these bars placed upon their edges, with fastenings at the ends,
which keep them more than an inch asunder, form a straight link,
a series of which links, to the length of 1714 feet, constitutes
a single chain. Four such chains, placed one above the
other, the joints of one chain falling on the centre of the links
of the next, form one great chain, containing, of course,
twenty solid bars, the pressure upon each of which will be
equalized by connecting stanchions.
Each carriage-way, twelve feet wide, will be supported by two
of these great chains; and there will be a foot-path along the
centre. I have here described such links as are placed
between the two piers and crossing the straits; those from the
piers to the fastenings are rather shorter and thicker. The
two centre chains, below which the foot-path will be formed,
between the carriage-ways, are, of course, near to each other;
perhaps not three feet asunder. Between these two chains
lay our path over the straits; a temporary path, formed of
planks, two in a breadth, suspended from the lower links, the
upper ones serving as a sort of hand-rail.
From the apex on which we sat, the chains appeared to descend
very steeply towards their fastenings on the land side, and
towards the centre over the straits. Although the planks
were not properly fastened, we proceeded fearlessly along the
vast curvature, 590 feet in length, to the pier on the Anglesea
side. Over the centre of the straits we sat down on a small
stage, which had been placed there for the band of musicians on the day
when the last chain was suspended. From this place, looking
downwards, we observed that the colour of the water appeared to
be a muddy pea-green. On the apex of the Anglesea pier we
had some conversation with one of the superintendents of the
work, who obligingly showed us the rollers under the saddle of
the chains, and the space in which they would move in case the
contraction or expansion of the chains by cold or heat should
ever become unequal on the two sides of the pier.
Admiration of the stupendous and almost superhuman work, and of
Mr. Telford’s consummate skill, breathed in every
observation we could make; and I thought that when death should
deprive the country of the further services of that able
engineer, his epitaph, simple as that upon Sir Christopher Wren,
will be abundantly sufficient, if it state, that “his
monument is suspended over the Straits of Menai.”
The superintendent, while we remained on the “airy
height,” gave us much information relative to the
proceedings of the workmen in their various arduous duties; and
the only painful intelligence he communicated was, that four men
had lost their lives, at different times, by falling from the
elevated parts of the works. No accident, however, had
happened to any of the numerous ladies and gentlemen who had
recently passed over the chains. From the spot on which we
stood we observed innumerable workmen completing the road to the
bridge, and preparing the iron net-work which is to form the
sides of the bridge, as soon as the carriage-ways are placed
along the perpendicular suspenders from the chains.
After thanking our obliging informant, we descended the chains
on the Anglesea side, and proceeded to the water’s edge, to
look at the archways formed under the road between the main pier
and the land. These, which look so small in the printed
views of the bridge, we found to be as broad and as lofty as the
aisles of Cathedrals; being sixty-five feet in height, to the
spring of the arches, and the span of each arch being fifty-two
feet. We then walked towards the ferry, and the moment we
reached it a boat was ready to cross the water. We
embarked, hailed our distant charioteer by a shout, he answered
us by waving his hat, and then driving down to meet us, and in a
few minutes we were again seated in our car, jaunting towards
Bangor, and anticipating the pleasure which awaited us in again
meeting our fair friends, and in the enjoyment of a good
breakfast.
We soon alighted at our inn, and over breakfast we recounted
to the ladies all the particulars of our morning excursion.
Some of them immediately expressed their determination to cross
the chains on their intended visit to the bridge, that evening or
the next day; indeed, they were adventurous enough for any
thing. We found they had not been idle during our absence;
and they afforded us an ample account of their walks about the
Cathedral, and the environs of the city. After our repast,
and after I had made two or three calls on business in the town,
the car was again brought to the door, pursuant to our orders,
with an extra horse, à la tandem, mounted by a
youthful postillion, under the command of our driver. About
ten o’clock we all took our seats in the commodious
vehicle, and we’re speedily whisked along, upon the road to
Conway, under the brilliance and heat of a sun which rendered the
ladies’ parasols almost invaluable. As we proceeded
we admired very much the gates of Penryn Park, which are quite
out of the common style; and, as we approached Penmaen-mawr, the
truly grand view of Beaumaris Bay on our left, with Puffin Island
in the distance, the mountainous elevations on our right, and the
fresh sea-breeze gently blowing on our faces, and all around us
were quite delightful. The cool clear waves were rippling
along the shore beneath us, and curling over the pebbly margin,
as if to refresh us by their playful agitation. We met
Pomona in the shape of a poor “Welse umman,” carrying
a small basket filled with tempting grapes; we relieved her of
part of her burden, much to her satisfaction; and, as we
journeyed along, we discussed the merits of the grapes with much
more taste than the fox in the fable did.
Presently we began to ascend the elevated part of the road,
which, like one of Jupiter’s belts, girds the bulk of
Penmaen-mawr. We found it much higher from the sea than it
appeared to be when we were on board the Llewellyn; the huge
mountain close on our right, and the precipice from the road side
to the water on our left, were steep almost as walls. While
we stopped
to enjoy the view, we threw several stones down towards the
water, and were surprised on observing the length of time which
elapsed before they disappeared in the waves. A party of
Irish harvesters, who, we supposed, had landed at Holyhead, and
were in search of employment, were here strolling along; they had
a stock of bread with them, and the small streams which they
passed afforded them water; but they begged of us, very earnestly
and very persuasively, “a few coppers, with which to buy a
morsel of backy.” Descending towards the
eastern foot of the mountain, and again rising up a very steep
road, we began to feel the heat of the day to be rather
oppressive: but we soon stopped at a small public-house, where we
refreshed our horses with water, our drivers with beer, and
ourselves with some excellent buttermilk of the real cut-throat
kind. We then walked up the hill, having a deep romantic
glen on the left, with a glimpse of Beaumaris Bay behind us, on
our right some bold and rugged crags, and near the top, a mass of
specimens, large and small, amongst which a mineralogist might
spend many pleasant hours.
We resumed our seats in the car, and found a pretty level road
for some distance. We saw before us the vale in which the
river Conway meets the sea; and at length, between us and the
water, we discerned what we all agreed was the very beau
ideal of an ancient city and castle. It was Conway,
which lay right before us and below us; our elevation affording
us a delightful bird’s-eye view of the whole place; and
certainly its walls and turrets (completely inclosing all the
houses) and the Castle with its numerous and beautifully formed
towers, were the best realization we had ever beheld of the ideas
formed by our reading of cities and castles, in the stories of
antiquity. Conway is quite perfect in this respect, and we
entered its gates with feelings of uncommon interest. The
city lies entirely on the slope of the hill, and the Castle,
which is at the lower and eastern side of it, almost touches the
water. The whole is admirably situated, and every view
around it is worthy of the painter’s pencil. It was
about half-past twelve when we arrived at the Castle Inn, where
we put up. We thence proceeded immediately to view the
Castle, the ruins of which are extremely extensive and
grand. Near the entrance we were annoyed by a swarm of children, who
rushed out of the neighbouring cottages, begging for “a
ha’penny, pleace eu ma’am; a ha’penny, pleace
eu sair;” words which they are taught to utter in a whining
tone, and which they continue repeating as long as they dare
follow a party of strangers, in defiance of any remonstrance on
their parts. This is a very common nuisance in some parts
of Wales, and it is a matter of regret that the cottagers do not
foresee what a deep and lasting mischief they are doing to their
children, by initiating them in such degrading practices.
We were shown into the Castle, among the ruins of which we
enjoyed a cool lounge for a considerable time, the ladies always
taking the lead in searching after the picturesque and gloomy,
among broken towers and staircases. The scene around us was
that in which Monk Lewis has placed his drama of the Castle
Spectre: and, certainly, a finer theatre for the adventures of
Angela, Father Philip, Reginald, and the Ghost itself, could not
have been chosen than Conway Castle must have been in the days of
its glory, and in the times of chivalry, of romance, and of dark
deeds. From the terrace, near the water, we had our first
view of the piers, and other works in progress, for the small,
but handsomely-designed Chain-bridge over the dangerous ferry of
Conway; an improvement in which the public are deeply interested,
and by which they will be materially benefited.
Soon after our return to the inn, the time arrived when my
cheerful companions and I were to part; they on their return to
Bangor (to meet the lady’s brother whom I mentioned as
having been with Belzoni) whence they would proceed on their
expedition to the Chain-bridge and to the top of Snowdon; and I
on my way to Llanrwst and Llangollen. Our regret that we
could not longer accompany each other seemed proportionate to the
pleasure we had enjoyed since we met; and that, certainly, was
glowing and unmixed, and will, doubtless, be memorable to us
all. They took their seats in the car, and after many a
hearty “good bye,” they were soon out of sight.
I then walked down to the water’s edge, and crossed the
ferry on business. On my return to Conway I was struck with
the excellent design and situation of the Chain-bridge. The approach
to it from the Denbighshire side is along a new-made terrace or
breakwater, advancing across the greater part of the
river’s breadth, and, of course, confining the rapid stream
to very narrow limits on the Carnarvonshire side. From this
terrace the Chain-bridge will appear to be the grand entrance,
under triumphal arches, to the Castle itself; and although, on
coming close to that venerable structure, there is a sudden turn
from it, leading directly to the town, I fancy a party of
travellers would not regret, that, instead of being deposited
within the naked and roofless walls of the Castle, they were
handed into a small but comfortable parlour at the Castle
Inn.
About five o’clock in the afternoon I hired a small car
to convey me to Llanrwst, about twelve miles up the vale; and
having lost my living companions, I amused myself with that
pathetic but strange compound of religion and romance, the
“Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life,” from which I
turned, ever and anon, to gaze upon the charming landscape
through which I was passing, and at the lovely “lights and
shadows” which the declining sun and the tinted mountains
were casting upon it. So forward was the harvest in this
fertile and extensive vale, that numbers of reapers were busy in
the corn-fields; and on my arrival at Llanrwst I was informed
that already (July 28) a loaf of new wheat had been baked
there. In transacting some business at Llanrwst that
evening I found that the absence of one individual would leave me
a vacant hour from eight to nine o’clock; and, as I was
desirous of taking that opportunity of refreshing myself by
bathing in the Conway, a tradesman accompanied me and pointed out
a deep and retired corner of the river, in which I laved myself
in the warm and clear stream with great pleasure. My
conductor, I found, had seen the world, and his range of
conversation was not confined either to these realms or to
India. Inquiring in the town respecting the prevailing
religious sects there, I was told by an inhabitant that they were
chiefly Churchmen, Methodists, and “Wess
lions.” From this classification I learned that the
new connexion assume the name of Methodists almost exclusively,
while the “Wess lions” are content with the title
they derive from the name of the indefatigable and pious John
Wesley.
The
evening was extremely fine, and soon after nine o’clock I
was ready to pursue my journey. As I had sent my luggage by
coach direct from Bangor to Llangollen, I had no incumbrance; and
I decided upon walking about four miles, to Bettws y Coed, a
small place on the great Welsh road. On leaving Llanrwst,
and crossing the bridge towards Gwydyr House and wood, I was much
pleased with the beauty of the scenery up the river; scenery
which forcibly reminded me of the exquisite Diorama of Holyrood
Chapel. The unclouded moon was shining above the summits of
the hills towards the south-east, and brightly illumined the left
bank of the river, and all the neighbouring objects in that
direction; while the thick and lofty wood on the right cast a
broad dark shade over the lower ground, and over part of the bed
of the river, which was dry, in consequence of the long-continued
fair weather. In the midst of this dark shade, and on the
dry pebbles of the river, two or three boys had kindled a small
but brilliant fire; the reflection of which from their hands and
faces, as they knelt around it, was highly picturesque.
Passing through a part of the wood on the right, I soon reached
the high road, and continued my solitary walk over ground I had
never before trodden, till I arrived at Bettws y Coed, where I
was accommodated with humble but cleanly lodgings, at an inn on
the road side.
On the following morning, charming landscapes and a clear sky
rendered every thing around me delightful; and at an early hour I
set out towards Llangollen, upon one of the Holyhead and
Shrewsbury coaches, with every disposition to enjoy the
interesting scenery through which we had to pass, upon one of the
finest roads, perhaps the very finest, in the world. Nor
was I disappointed. The iron bridge, the hills on one hand,
the deep ravines on the other, and the variety which every turn
in the road afforded to the view, made the journey short and
pleasant. At a place where we stopped a few moments, a poor
“Welse umman” solicited our favours, asking very
assiduously of each passenger, (and at the same time exhibiting
the various products of her industry)—“D’you
want a Welse wig?—d’you want a wool
stockings?—d’you want a wool
gloves?—d’you want a Welse wig?”—and so
on, alternately; but the weather was not harvest weather to
her, and she obtained no orders. Soon after we
passed Kernioge, and while we were travelling at full speed, I
was surprised by a poor woman getting up behind the coach,
obtaining a footing among the passengers, and handing her hat
round, not only to those near her, but to those in front, to whom
she reached across the roof; nor did I perceive, until I was
informed of the fact, that she was perfectly blind! She
descended from the coach with the utmost ease; although such was
our rapidity, that, in a few moments, she was left far behind
us. Passing through Corwen, I reached Llangollen about one
o’clock. The beauties of this place, or rather of the
vale in which it is situated, are well known. The bridge,
standing upon foundations furnished by nature itself, is always
an object of admiration; and if the town and church were light
coloured, so as to present a distinct contrast to the surrounding
foliage, the whole would have a most charming appearance.
So exhausted was the river Dee at this season, that I crossed the
timber of a small wear, and the bed of the river, without wetting
even the soles of my shoes. From Llangollen, homewards, my
journey was merely on business; but I thought, that, up to this
period, a narrative of the incidents which had occurred during a
trip of only three days and three hours’ duration, might
not be uninteresting to some of my friends.
The following lines were principally written in the short
intervals of a rapid journey of business in this county, some
days after my return from Wales, and without my having the
assistance of any memoranda whatever taken during “the
Trip.”